Mi Mayor Deseo
by kci47
Summary: Olivia Benson and Rafael Barba must go undercover in Miami. Things get heated. / Story title: My Greatest Desire. Benson/Barba, heed the rating!
1. The Beginning

Rafael Barba closed the manila file and slapped it on the desk. "Miami? Really? They don't have their own SVU?" One of his eyebrows quirked in disbelief.

"Of course they do. But this guy's mine, Barba. We almost had him back in 2006 when I was working Computer Crimes," Olivia argued. "He—"

Barba held up a hand, signaling her to stop. Then he massaged one temple. "There's no one else who can go?" he asked hopefully, but Olivia was already shaking her head.

"He knows Fin. And with all due respect to the rest of the squad, _I_ was the one who was trying to collar him." She looked at him with a plea in her eyes. "He's a child trafficker, Barba. We can't let him reopen shop just because he's in another state now."

Rafael blew out a breath. "Fine. Go home, pack your bags, and a car will pick you up in two hours."

* * *

Olivia shouldn't have been surprised when the car arrived at her apartment and Barba exited to help load her suitcase, but she was. "I thought you would meet me at the airport. Or, I don't know, take a private jet."

He hoisted her bag into the trunk with ease before leading her to the back door and gesturing her into the car. "The fact that you think I have a private jet at my disposal says a lot about your perceptions of me," he replied as he slid in beside her. Their knees bumped as the driver merged into traffic, and Olivia scooted further to her side, tamping down the tingly feeling emanating from the point of contact. She refocused her attention on their thread of conversation.

"Well, I do know you own a yacht, or know someone who does," she pointed out. "A private jet doesn't seem like such a crazy leap."

Barba shot her a glance out the corner of his eye and the ghost of a smile played on his lips, but then he changed the subject. "Explain to me again why I need to be involved in this case?"

Olivia turned towards him, settling herself against the back of the seat so she could watch him. She hated to admit it since he was sort of like a boss, but his facial expressions endlessly fascinated her. She always liked watching him. "'El Hombre Grande' was identified as a child trafficker here in New York over a decade ago. But by the time anyone had ID Miguel DeSanto, he'd gone deep underground. We looked for a couple months but he was good at hiding, really good. Fast forward to two weeks ago when we got a call from the local precinct asking for our files on this guy calling himself 'El Hombre'. Apparently he's one of the backers of a new luxury nightclub opening in two nights. That's where we come in."

"I understand why you're invested, Olivia, I really do—but why me?" He turned to face her, mirroring her own pose.

Olivia smiled. "It's a Latino club. It's gotta be you and me, Papi."

* * *

"Do you always travel this casually?" Barba asked her, a bit huffily, several hours later. He was trying to shove her travel blanket back onto her side of the seat. She had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was the kind of person who insisted they each got _half_ of the armrest.

Olivia glanced down. She was dressed comfortably for their flight: flats, a pair of worn jeans that fit her like a glove, soft camisole, and a swingy cardigan with oversized pockets. Then she looked over at Barba and the reason for his discomfort became clear—he was wearing a three-piece suit, like usual.

"There's actually no formal dress requirement for the plane ride," she stage-whispered to him. When he scowled, she merely laughed and tugged the blanket up to her chin. Adjusting her neck pillow, she leant back and closed her eyes. "You should have taken your private jet. Try not to panic if I drift into your personal space," she teased him.

She thought she heard him murmur "Too late" but just then their flight attendant's voice came over the intercom, walking them through the basics of flotation devices and emergency exits, so Olivia couldn't be sure. She spent the remainder of their flight to Miami decidedly _not_ imagining what it would be like to end up in each other's personal space.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Rafael heard the swish of the patio door as Olivia came out to join him on the deck. She wolf-whistled in appreciation. "This is some hotel," she said as she reached the railing. They were standing thirty floors up, looking across the bay at downtown Miami as the sun set. Two torches on their patio gave everything in the vicinity a warm glow.

"Indeed," he replied, taking another sip of his scotch.

They stood in silence for a moment, both taking in the view. Then Olivia turned to face him—she did that a lot, he noticed—and he knew by the expression on her face that he wasn't going to like her line of questioning.

"You've been here before."

Since it wasn't a question, he didn't answer. Merely drank again, albeit more deeply than before.

"Did you fly down in your jet and meet a lover at this hotel?" she asked playfully. She went on without waiting for him to respond. "Let's see. I bet you took a boat out on the bay. Dinner at five star restaurants and dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Daiquiris on the beach and nude sunbathing by your own private pool... Stop me when I get to the part that's not true," she joked.

Rafael finished his drink and turned his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't hit an untruth yet," he deadpanned. The way her jaw dropped made him smile, and he left the railing to go back inside. She still hadn't regained her speech by the time he reached the sliding door, so he added over his shoulder, "I _really_ hate tan lines."

Closing himself in his suite for the night, he reflected on how much he enjoyed getting one over on her. Olivia was smart as hell and quick-witted to boot, so it wasn't often that he walked away feeling like he'd won their exchanges. Which made his occasional victories all the sweeter, although he would never admit to _her_ that he looked forward to their verbal sparring. Or that he increasingly found himself wanting to end her tirades by covering her mouth with his own. No, she could never know.

Rafael realized it was going to be a very long stay in Miami.

* * *

 _I could get used to this,_ Olivia thought the next morning as she soaked in the giant whirlpool tub in her en suite bathroom. The hotel they were staying at was as high-class as she'd ever seen, and their penthouse suite had enormous bedrooms and bathrooms for both of them. They shared a kitchen, living space, and patio.

At least, they were _supposed_ to share. After last night on the porch, Barba had retreated to his room and stayed there. Olivia had spent another hour or so outside, relaxing on a chaise lounge while she watched the sun sink the rest of the way. Then she'd puttered around in the kitchen and living area for a while, but Barba's door had remained firmly shut. Eventually she'd given up on company and gone to bed.

The gigantic bed was no help, though. It was made for two, and the silken sheets positively begged for amorous action. Olivia had tossed and turned for most of the night, thinking about Barba and whether or not he really jetted around to expensive hotels and met lovers and tanned in the buff. And trying _not_ to think about how jealous that made her feel. After all, she couldn't afford for an attraction to ruin their working relationship. Barba was the best ADA they'd had, and he had some stiff competition. Besides, she didn't think he returned her interest. Even once she'd made it her own personal goal to become better acquainted with his expressions, she couldn't always read him. She supposed it was part of why he was so good at his job, but it was damn frustrating for her.

Olivia twisted the faucet to add some more hot water. Maybe she would just stay in the tub all day until it was time for their debriefing with the Miami SVU. She was certain this was an establishment that would never run out of hot water, no matter how many times in a day she filled the huge tub. Sighing, she sank into the water up to her ears, enjoying the muffled sound of the running water from beneath the surface.

A flash of movement at the edge of her vision had her springing up and grabbing for her gun. When she realized she had it pointed directly at Barba's forehead, she huffed out a breath. "Christ, Barba, don't you knock?" she asked, her shoulders sagging in relief.

"I did," he answered calmly. "Several times, in fact. I was worried you were drowning in here." He looked her up and down, then spoke slowly, enunciating every word very carefully. "Although I see now that worry was misplaced." When his eyes completed their circuit of her body, he met her gaze and raised his brows. "Care to put your weapon away, Sergeant?"

"Oh. Right." Olivia put the safety back on and set the gun back down on the shelf by the tub, next to the towels. _THE TOWELS!_

Letting out a small shriek, Olivia grabbed at the stack and covered herself as quickly as she could. When he'd barged in on her, she'd forgotten for a moment that she was completely naked. Now, however, her entire attention was focused on the fact that she was standing in front of Rafael Barba, naked but for a towel, and that there was water sluicing seductively down her body. Her _naked_ body. Naked, naked, naked...

Clearing her throat and attempting to drag her mind away from _other_ activities that involved being naked, Olivia said the first thing that came to mind. "I do have tan lines," she offered lamely. Immediately she felt herself blushing even harder than before. _Idiot_ , she chastised herself. _He can SEE that!_

To his credit, Barba kept his eyes on her face this time. "You might want to leave yourself enough time to un-prune before the Miami captain gets here at noon," he suggested. Then he spun on his heel and left, shutting the door softly behind him. Olivia sank back into the tub, groaning quietly and completely unmindful of the towel.

* * *

"How do you feel about dinner?" Rafael asked later that evening.

"Favorably," Olivia murmured, stifling a yawn behind her hand. The Miami SVU team had left a few minutes ago after several long, grueling hours of debriefing and plan-making. At least everything was set for tomorrow night, a fact which made Rafael feel a bit less tense than he would have otherwise.

"There's a fantastic Cuban place around the corner," he offered.

"I'll go get dressed," Olivia said, but she didn't move from her slouched position on the couch. Rafael smiled. They were both worn out, it was true; but something about having her undivided attention to himself tonight was making him feel—on edge, he supposed.

"Why don't you stay here. Grab a glass of wine, watch the sun set. I'll run over and bring it back here." Matching actions to words, he stood and shrugged into his suit jacket. "Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

"You don't have to," she protested, but it was weak. She'd draped her arm over her eyes and he would bet his best suit that she would be asleep before he'd reached the lobby.

He knew exactly the argument that she couldn't—wouldn't—refute. "We probably shouldn't be seen together until tomorrow night, anyway," he pointed out.

Olivia peeked one eye at him from beneath her arm. "That's playing dirty," she said.

"Mami, you don't know me at all if you think I ever play clean." He winked at her. "I'll meet you on the patio in forty minutes."

* * *

Olivia dragged herself up off the couch after the door closed behind Barba. He was taking care of dinner; the least she could do was clear away their case files and make the place a little homier. She spent the next fifteen minutes doing exactly that, pleased to find that their suite had wireless speakers and a built-in stereo. After their files were safely boxed, she poured herself a glass of wine and spent some time swaying around the place to an upbeat Cuban music station.

A few more songs found her shimmying and shaking around the living space, hopping up on the couch to belt out the lyrics to one of her favorites. Once the song ended, she flopped down on the couch to take a breather and finish her glass of wine.

"Oh, damn," she hissed when some of the red sloshed onto her shirt and pants. She stripped off her blouse as she entered her bedroom, tossing it onto an armchair before removing her slacks. Reaching into her suitcase for another shirt and pair of pants, a flash of purple caught her eye. It was the dress she'd packed for their foray into the nightclub, a frivolous purchase from several months before when a rough case had knocked her for a loop. It was bright purple, form-fitting, and had made her feel like a million bucks when she'd tried it on at the store. Rationalizing that she ought to give it a test drive before the big event, she plucked it from the suitcase and hurried to the bathroom.

* * *

Thirty-nine minutes after he'd left, Barba strode onto the patio where Olivia was currently relaxing on one of the loungers, music playing softly through one of the portable speakers. "You're prompt," she said inanely. _Not that I've been timing your absence..._

His eyebrows rose as he began to methodically set out their dinner. "You're vivid," he replied nonchalantly.

Olivia sat up, a curl of heat spreading through her belly. "I had to change," she explained. "I, um, spilled wine on my other clothes. And I figured this number could use a trial run before tomorrow." She smoothed a hand nervously over her abdomen, suddenly feeling silly and overdressed.

"Olivia Benson, a sloppy drunk. I never would have imagined." Barba's droll tone told her he was just teasing. She leaned back on one hand and watched him as he continued to lay out their food.

"I'm not drunk, Barba."

"Just sloppy, then."

She grabbed one of the pillows off the lounge and threw it at him. Smiling slightly, he caught it in one hand and tossed it carelessly behind him. "Are you ready to eat?"

"Of course." She straightened to stand when his hand appeared in front of her. Glancing up to see nothing but a bland politeness on his face, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to tow her up.

He didn't release her hand right away once she was standing, and she tried to meet his gaze as steadily as he was looking at her. She was just an inch taller than him when she was barefoot, and as they stood together so closely, Olivia had to fight the urge to sway into him. Something about the intensity of his undivided attention was doing things to her insides. The Latin music pulsing through the air and the relative privacy on their balcony wasn't helping, either. Just as she opened her mouth to do something truly stupid—like ask him to dance with her—he spoke first.

"Did you leave me any wine or is it all on your clothing?"

Stepping back, Olivia told herself she was relieved the spell was broken. If he hadn't spoken, who knows what would have happened? Unfortunately, her mind supplied all the possibilities in sparkling detail. Olivia shook herself and moved to sit at the table he'd set for them.

"There's a full bottle inside. And this one's only..." she peeked, not wanting his joking to be right, "half-gone. Enough for us each to have a glass." He held her seat out for her and Olivia tried not to read anything into it. Barba was regularly holding doors and touching the small of her back to guide her through crowds—it was just his mannerism. She focused on pouring them each a glass of wine, then turned her attention to the food spread out before her. "This looks amazing, Barba. Thank you."

"I think you can call me Rafael tonight," he said as he took his seat across from her. She watched as he loosened the knot of his tie and undid the top two buttons on his oxford. Luckily, he didn't glance up to catch her staring, and with great effort she returned her attention to their food. Barba—Rafael, she mentally corrected—had chosen well and they fell silent as they devoured the delicious meal.

Eventually Olivia's belly was beyond full, and she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes and feeling the breeze ruffle her hair.

"Surrendering already, Sergeant?" Rafael asked.

Olivia smiled, her eyes still closed. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, thank god. I don't think I can take much more but I didn't want to be the first to stop. It's rude."

Olivia laughed. They lapsed back into silence until she heard Rafael's chair scrape the floor. Opening her eyes, she saw him sprawling out on one of the chaise lounges and decided he had the right idea. Plopping down onto her own lounge, she exhaled deeply. The music was still flowing from the speakers, the heat of the day had faded enough to be comfortable, and she was full of the most delightful Cuban food she'd ever eaten. Perhaps she would just drift off and sleep under the stars... It was close to ten o'clock now, anyway, thanks to their marathon debriefing session earlier in the day.

She felt rather than saw when Rafael turned his attention to her. A prickling sensation crept up her neck and her stomach tightened. Turning her head, she saw that he was indeed on his side facing her, his eyes boring into hers.

"So what do you usually do on the night before an undercover op?" he asked.

She twisted onto her side as well, pillowing her head on her arm. "Read a book or watch a movie, anything, really; and try not to think about it," she replied.

He nodded slowly. "And does that work?"

She smiled slightly. "Never," she said honestly.

He nodded again, looking as though he had expected that answer but hoped for a different one anyway. Taking pity on him, Olivia stood and pushed her lounge chair right up next to his before settling back down. "You're going to do great, Barba," she murmured, stifling a yawn.

"Obviously," he answered, his usual swagger back in place. She grinned at him before rolling onto her back.

"I'm going to listen to the music with my eyes closed for a bit," she told him.

"Just don't fall asleep," he warned her. "I have a rule about not sleeping with colleagues."

Olivia reached out and blindly smacked whatever part of him she could reach. "Shut up, Barba. You would _be_ so lucky."

She could practically hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I have no doubt."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm supposed to be writing a Harry Potter gift fest piece but this poured out instead. I love their chemistry onscreen and refuse to accept Tucker as Olivia's love interest. More to come!**


	2. It Continues

"We have a problem," Olivia announced as she entered their kitchen the next morning.

"Just the words I wanted to hear before my first coffee," Barba intoned.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll wait." Olivia crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him. Barba drummed his fingers on the countertop, checked the still-brewing coffee pot, then looked back at her. Finally, he relented.

"Go ahead," he drawled.

"Apparently, while I was listening to music with my eyes closed last night—"

"Sleeping, you mean. Which I cautioned you not to do."

"You really are unpleasant before coffee," Olivia remarked. At his glare, she forged ahead. "As I was _saying_ , apparently it rained or something spilled on my dress, or... I don't suppose you know a same-day dry cleaner around here?" She looked at him hopefully. He did seem very familiar with the area, and he was a man whose suits indicated that he _always_ knew the location of a good dry cleaner.

"Unfortunately, no." The pot finished brewing and Barba busied himself with filling a large mug. Olivia felt her shoulders slump—she'd have to spend some time this morning trying to find someone to clean the garment before tonight's stint. After a few sips, Barba seemed to relax, and he leant against the counter. "But you won't need that dress anyway. My tailor is bringing over a few options this afternoon."

Olivia gave her head a quick shake. "I'm sorry—your _tailor_? Is...bringing dresses? Here?" She frowned as his words sank in. "Your tailor does dresses?"

Barba took another gulp of his coffee before responding. "She's very talented."

"Your tailor is a _she_?" Olivia felt her eyebrows climbing even higher up her forehead.

"Why do you think I always look so good?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"I..." Olivia paced a few steps away, then came back. "She's coming here. Today. With dresses. For me."

"That's what I said, Sergeant," Barba retorted. Then he smirked. "Believe me, I am _not_ complaining about that purple dress. But for tonight, you need something even more— _more_."

"More _more_ , hm?" Olivia asked, nodding as if she had any earthly clue what was going on. Then she threw her hands in the air. "Fine, _Counselor_ , I'll await your tailor. Although I don't know how she's going to work her magic in just a few hours when she has no idea what size I even need."

Barba's eyes skated down her body then met hers again over the rim of his mug. "I think I managed to guess fairly accurately," he said. Then he tipped his head towards her room. "Don't you have prepping you need to do, or something? I need time alone with my caffeine."

"Ugh," Olivia grumbled as she turned and headed for her room. "Men."

* * *

True enough, Olivia did have a fair amount of "prepping" to do, including the removal of most of her body hair in advance of tonight's event. After a luxurious bath—she was _really_ going to miss this tub—she shaved, tweezed, moisturized, dried, curled, and primped herself in accordance with the style cut-sheets the Miami undercover unit had left for her. Donning a silk bathrobe, she wandered around her room, awaiting this mysterious female tailor. Eventually she grew tired of pacing her bedroom and poked her head out into their living area. Barba was nowhere to be seen, so she made her way to their identity packets which had arrived less than an hour ago.

Pulling her temporary driver's license out of the envelope, she gasped. There must be some mistake. Quickly she dumped the rest of the documents out of her packet only to have her fears confirmed.

"Problem?" a voice came from the direction of Barba's room. Olivia hadn't even heard him open the door.

"Yes! Look at the name they gave me!" She held out the license to him as he strolled closer. Only then did she realize that he looked equally as freshly bathed, shaven, and slathered. What's more, he too was wearing the hotel's silk bathrobe, the tie knotted low on his waist and leaving a large vee of chest exposed. Olivia's mouth went dry.

He took the ID card from her and examined it. Carefully, he extracted the ID from his own envelope. Then he laughed.

"It's not funny," she insisted, but a smile was threatening to burst forth in the face of his laughter.

"Oh, come on, _Rafaella_ ," he cajoled. "Don't be so upset for Oliviero, _querido_ (1)."

"They did not name you Oliviero!" she gasped, laughing along with him at last. She grabbed for the licenses, but he jerked them out of reach. "Let me see!"

She lunged for them, only realizing after the fact that the movement had loosened her robe considerably. She hurried to right the garment, blushing to the tips of her ears. Then she backed up and tightened the knot until the sash was fairly digging into her skin. Thankfully Barba didn't seem to notice her discomfort.

"I'm afraid so." Barba tossed the licenses down on the table, shaking his head. "I guess they overheard us joking about it yesterday," he said, shrugging.

Olivia groaned. "I cannot _believe_ I am going undercover with you while being named Rafaella. Now every time you compliment me tonight, I'll wonder if you're really just talking to yourself. No, wait, scratch that—I'll _know_ you're complimenting yourself!"

Barba grinned wolfishly. "I do intend to look extremely handsome and wealthy tonight. I just hope you can keep your hands off me."

Reaching out, Olivia shoved his shoulder, hard, laughing as she did so. "Believe me, Barba, if I touch you tonight it's because I'm going to strangle you!"

* * *

Rafael exhaled slowly as he leaned against the railing on the private balcony attached to his bedroom. There had been a moment back there, just a brief sliver of time, where Olivia's robe had gaped open, and he swore he had died and gone to heaven. He'd always had an eye for detail—especially the detail of a woman's body—so he'd _known_ , instinctually, that Olivia was nicely put together. But today—oh, today, he'd _seen_ just a glimpse of her for himself, and he was on fire with the need to see more.

It could never happen, of course. He wasn't technically her superior, but they did have to work together closely, and any sort of amorous relationship would certainly fuck up their professional one. He would have to content himself with their verbal sparring and the secretive nighttime talents of his right hand.

Bantering with Olivia without the presence of her squad or any perps was a new experience, one which he was loathe to give up when they eventually returned to New York. Unfortunately, it was also having the unwelcome side effect of ratcheting up his attraction to her. He would need to tuck those feelings deep, deep down tonight if he hoped to remain focused on their mission.

Speaking of—Annamaria was in the living room with Olivia now, fitting her for a couple of dresses. He rested against the rail, watching them through the paned glass. After his visceral reaction to seeing her in that flimsy bathrobe this morning, he'd thought it best to be out of the space entirely while Annamaria worked her magic. Hopefully by the time they were ready to leave in a few hours, he would have banished his very unprofessional feelings far, far away.

He wasn't optimistic, however. His instructions to his skilled tailor had been very specific: _Dress her like the classiest courtesan a man could only dream of winning._ And he had no doubt that Annamaria would succeed; she was the best in the business and on his payroll for a reason. Running his hand through his hair, Rafael sighed again and returned to his room. Perhaps another cold shower was in order.

* * *

"Ready?" Olivia asked him when he entered the shared living room. Then she actually looked at him, and her mouth fell open. Rafael Barba in a tuxedo was...well, stunning. That was the only word that even came close to doing him justice. She had seen him in one once before, at the squad room, but somehow, that wasn't quite the same. Not when he was standing there, staring at her as intently as she was staring at him, and she knew that he was all hers for the entire evening.

Not _hers_ hers, of course. Just pretend hers.

She swallowed and pasted a smile on her face. "The car should be here," she said, instead of what she wanted to say, which was along the lines of _Take that off and make love to me_.

"Of course," he replied, and for a moment her poor, dazzled brain thought he meant _Of course I'll make love to you_ , but then she mentally shook herself and they exited the hotel room together. The elevator ride downstairs was silent, as was the walk to the stately black limousine awaiting them. Rafael held the door for her and Olivia slid into the vehicle, scooting over to make room for him. He sat down beside her and he looked so at home in the fancy car that Olivia couldn't stop staring.

When he glanced over and caught her looking, he quirked an eyebrow. Olivia finally snapped out of her trance and rummaged through her bag for her sunglasses. They were huge and heavily tinted, and she didn't really _need_ them in the car, but she slipped them on anyway. There, that was better. Now she could stare at him all she wanted and he would never know.

"Is this going to make things uncomfortable between us?" he asked suddenly.

Ooookay, so the sunglasses weren't fooling him. Olivia let out a deep breath and allowed her head to fall back on the seat. "I hope not," she answered honestly.

"Me either," he said quietly. She heard him moving on the seat, then felt the leather next to her dip as he settled closer to her. One arm slid behind her neck, propping her head up in a better position. "Don't want to ruin your hairstylist's work," he murmured close to her ear, and Olivia's entire body actually twitched with the desire that shot through her.

She kept her eyes firmly closed for the remainder of the ride, and neither of them spoke again until they pulled up in front of the club. Tension filled the back of the limo as they both sat up and peered out the windows. There was a red carpet lined with local news agencies as well as celebrity photographers. Club security formed a line between the invited and uninvited as expensively-dressed men and women made their way into the club.

"Shall we, my darling Rafaella?" All of Barba's nervousness seemed to have disappeared, replaced with his customary amused condescension.

Olivia rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. "I swear I'm going to murder the agent that gave us these names," she muttered. "Or at least have them demoted to desk duty." Barba chuckled and exited the limo once the driver opened the door. He held his hand out to assist her from the vehicle, and then pulled her arm through his own to rest her hand on the crook of his elbow.

"Remember to smile," he whispered in her ear, and then he was whisking them up the red carpet, smiling and nodding at the clamoring paparazzi. Olivia clung tightly to his arm, trying to relax and remember her role. She was here to look wealthy, bored, and desirable; the rest of the evening was up to their perp.

A thrumming bass beat reached their ears from inside the club. Barba escorted her to the doorman, who she recognized from yesterday's briefing with Miami SVU. He nodded once at them and pulled the heavy door open, and the deep bass beat intensified. They stepped inside and paused for a moment, taking in their surroundings. The multi-level club boasted several bars, a prominent dance floor, and several VIP suites. Even though they had studied floorplans the day before, Olivia still found herself staring around in awe.

Rafael gestured for her to precede him. As she moved in front of him, he placed a hand on her lower back to guide her as they made their way through the growing crowd. She reminded herself that this was nothing new; he frequently touched her when they were working together. This was no different.

But then his hand slipped lower than usual, much lower, and Olivia's brain short-circuited.

"Into the belly of the beast," Rafael said, and they were swept up in the crowd.

* * *

Rafael followed Olivia through the throng of people, the heavy thump of the music matching his racing heart. Laser lights flashed around the dance floor, cutting pink and purple beams through the swaying dancers. The club still retained the faintest hint of new-construction smell, but it was quickly being replaced by the scent wafting from Olivia's skin as she led the way to the upper levels.

Her brilliant yellow dress draped over one shoulder, leaving the other enticingly bare. One bronze, toned thigh winked in and out of the high slit in her dress when she walked. It suited her to perfection and Rafael made a mental note to give Annamaria a hefty bonus, even as he was cursing his tailor's skill as he watched Olivia's hips sway beneath the satiny material. He need only drop his hand another inch or so until he could cup her ass—but he _had_ to focus. He was here for one express purpose, and that was to appear wealthy, bored, and like the type of person who paid well for his particular vices.

They reached the second floor and Olivia snagged them a prime booth overlooking the lower level dance floor. They slid into their seats and perused the drink specials card until a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. They didn't speak until the waitress returned with a scotch for him and some kind of garish mixed drink for Olivia.

"Do you intend to drink the entire rainbow?" he asked, twirling his scotch in its tumbler.

"It's the house special," she answered. "Fruity, colorful, and probably quite dangerous to my mental acuity," she added drily. She lifted her drink in his direction in a toast before taking a sip, followed by a larger gulp.

"Sounds like someone I know," he muttered to himself, raising his glass and toasting her back. They spent some time sipping their drinks and soaking in the sights of the luxury club. Rafael found his eyes straying back to Olivia more than once, trying to reconcile the goddess sitting next to him with the same sergeant that regularly chapped his ass back at the precinct.

He had seen her dressed up, of course. There were certain occasions that required them both to make their appearances and play nice for local councilmen or higher ups. But he had never seen her like this—sparkling, accessorized, _extremely_ far out of his league. He forced his gaze back out to the dancers below them, but his mind whirred with the possibilities. Him. Her. That dress on the floor...

"Vienes aqui a menudo(2), Oliviero?" she asked him jokingly.

A slow smile spread across his face and he turned in the booth to face her more fully. "Solo cuando una diosa hermosa esta aqui(3)," he answered slowly, trying deliberately to get under her skin the way she was doing to him.

Her laughing smile faded and he watched her pupils dilate as she inhaled sharply. Oh, yes, that had done it. He leant in closer, waiting until she had leaned forward as well, her eyes locked on his. He rested his free hand on top of hers and added, "Pero no lo olvides, tenemos un trabajo que hacer(4)."

Olivia just stared at him for a moment, and then rolled her eyes away from him and yanked her hand away, blowing out an exasperated breath. "How could I forget?" she grumbled, finishing the last of her drink and signaling the waitress for another. Rafael laughed softly to himself, feeling more in control of this situation.

Or, at least, not completely out of control all by his lonesome.

His partner for the evening began a stream of small talk, commenting about the people around them, the music, the decorations in the club, the increasing appeal of her beverages. He was grateful for the reprieve, answering her occasionally with a word of agreement or a biting commentary about some pompous young clubber's choice of formal attire. They continued to drink and survey the crowd, waiting for their suspect to show his face. An hour passed, then another, and then it was past midnight. Rafael usually worked quite late into the evenings, but sitting and waiting—and not being able to discuss anything case-related with Olivia—was driving him insane. Still, there was no help for it. They would stay here until El Hombre showed or until the club closed for the evening, whichever came first.

* * *

Their idle chatter had worn down several minutes ago as the allure of the brightly dressed crowd had faded. Rafael, for one, was feeling the languorous effect of the two—no, make that three—scotches he had imbibed. Glancing over at Olivia, he noted that she was looking rather relaxed herself. She had one arm draped across the back of their booth and the other was tapping out the beat on the smooth leather of the seat. Her eyes tracked the dancers on the floor below before meeting his own. She straightened a bit and smiled at him. He smiled back and racked his brain for something else to talk about while they waited, but he came up blank.

Then she shifted to face him more fully, crossing her legs as she did so. One long, bare leg ended up perilously close to his own trousered legs and he found that he couldn't make himself look away. He stared at her strappy heels, her ankle, her shin, her calf; without any conscious volition, his hand darted out and he ran a finger slowly up her leg to where it disappeared into her dress. That done, he dropped his hand back to her knee, then lower, to cup the muscled curve of her calf.

Finally meeting her gaze again, he saw her brows were raised and her lips were parted. "I wanted to know if you felt as impossibly smooth as you look," he explained. His rogue hand gently squeezed her calf and stroked the warm flesh just behind her knee.

She didn't move, her eyes locked on his. She licked her lips. "So what's the verdict, Counselor?" Her voice was low and seductive, the tone reminding him of the very best whisky he'd ever drunk. It wrapped around his brain so that he felt frozen in place, not wanting to disturb this moment. But Olivia shifted slightly closer so that her leg was pressed more firmly against his pants leg, and she leaned forward, supporting her upper body with a hand on the seat between them.

"I need more hard evidence," he managed. He nearly smiled when her eyes dropped to his lap, no doubt looking for the _very_ hard evidence there. He removed his hand from her leg and lifted it to her shoulder. Gently, slowly, he trailed his fingers down her collarbone, dropping to follow the V of her dress until his fingertips rested just between the curves of her breasts. Reluctantly he pulled his hand away and rasped, "Guilty as charged."

* * *

 _This is it_ , Olivia thought. _I'm going to melt into a puddle and die in this club._ The feel of Rafael stroking her bare skin had sent her up in flames, and she didn't know if she would ever stop burning again.

He was still gazing at her, his eyes boring into hers. Being the sole focus of all his energy and attention was a heady sensation, one she wouldn't mind repeating...albeit in the privacy of their hotel room. She swallowed thickly and wet her lips with her tongue, feeling the heat punch up a notch when his eyes followed the motion. If she couldn't come up with something to say or do to break this connection, _now_ , then things were going to spiral out of control very quickly.

"You're very smooth yourself," she blurted out instead, both horrified and thrilled to see her hand reach out and trace the line of his jaw. He caught her wrist in his hand and brought her palm to his mouth for the lightest of kisses. Olivia thought she might actually swoon—was that something that ladies still did? Swoon? If she was ever going to, this would certainly be the time and the place, she reflected. Their booth was covered in the most sumptuous leather she'd ever had the pleasure of sitting on, and surely it would make an excellent swooning bench.

Just as she was about to lose it and burst forth with hysterical laughter, Barba stood, still holding her hand, and said, "Bailemos(5)."

It wasn't a question. And Olivia didn't need to answer, because he was already pulling her up from her seat and removing her drink from her hand to set it on the table. He had led her halfway down the stairs before her brain caught up.

"I'd love to dance with you, really, but my last boyfriend said I was no good at dancing." Olivia nearly plowed into Rafael's back when he stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his face incredulous. "I always tried to lead," she explained.

Rafael scoffed before turning back around and continuing to the dance floor. "I don't mind a dominant woman," he said over his shoulder.

Trying desperately to regain her balance in this whole exchange, Olivia fired back, "Oh, that's good, because I like making a strong man submit."

They reached the edge of the dance floor and Rafael yanked her to him. "I bet you do," he answered. He settled one hand on her waist and gripped her hand with his other. Then he waited, quirking an eyebrow at her. "So dominate me," he added, when she made no move to lead them.

Olivia glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention. And, anyway, why not? They hadn't seen El Hombre yet, so they may as well pass the time dancing. She pressed forward, pleased when he followed her steps easily and without fighting her for control. He allowed her to lead for several steps, then he surged forward, reversing their roles. Back and forth, he in charge, then she. So they went for the next two songs, and Olivia enjoyed herself immensely. She loved that he was secure enough to follow her lead and not just shove her around the dance floor, like so many others in his position would do.

Out of nowhere, he said, "Your last boyfriend was an idiot."

She laughed huskily as he spun her out, and she was still smiling when he brought her back in close. "He was right," she said. "I'm not very feminine."

They came to a complete stop on the dance floor. "Is that a joke?" he asked her, anger lacing his tone.

"I—" Olivia frowned. Was he upset?

"Correction," he told her, sounding exactly like he did when he was commanding a courtroom. Rafael placed his hands on her hips, then slid them slowly up her waist, and further, to the outer curves of her breasts. "This," he said, sliding his hands back down the way they'd come, "is all woman."

Before she could even think to respond, he had pulled her back into him, only this time he wasn't giving her the opportunity to lead. He surged forward, whisking her around the dance floor, spinning and twirling her until she was dizzy. Laughing, she let herself follow, being spun and swayed in time with the music. Rafael threw her hands up over her head, letting his own hands trail down her arms to her sides to her hips and ending on her thighs. The entire time he kept his eyes locked on hers, and Olivia smiled for him as she twisted her hips and curved her spine to press the front of her body against him.

* * *

 _This is it_ , Rafael thought. _She's going to kill me right here, right now_. He had never felt anything as sweet in his life as the feel of her body pressed against him, undulating to the strong thrum of the music. Thankfully, the music changed, slowing to a more intimate pace. He was about to lead her off the dance floor when she looped her arms around his neck and plastered them together from shoulder to knee.

Right. _Now_ she was going to kill him.

He dropped his hands to her waist, then slipped them around to lock at the small of her back. They swayed to the slower tune and Rafael was about to say something to embarrass himself when she murmured into his ear, "Miguel, your six o'clock."

Carefully, he turned them so that he could catch a glimpse, and indeed, the man known as El Hombre was standing just off the dance floor, talking to several scantily-clad women. "Nice ID," he told her, covering his interest by bringing one hand up to brush the hair away from her neck. He placed his mouth closer to her ear and added, "Approach?"

He felt her shake her head slightly. "Wait and see," she answered, so he continued to dance them slowly around the floor, making their way ever closer to the side where their perp was stationed. The next song was another slow one, and he could have sworn that Olivia pressed even closer to him. Rafael allowed his hands to roam, or else he was going to spontaneously combust. One traced over her gently rocking hip while the other slid up to caress the back of her neck. He heard her moan softly and instantly his cock was rock-hard.

"What sort of undergarments does one wear under a dress like this, anyway?" he asked, hoping he sounded merely curious rather than intensely intrigued. As attempts to distract himself went, it was a pathetic one, but he was working with very few functioning brain cells at the moment.

"No tengo ropa interior puesta(6)," she murmured in his ear, and Rafael's knees nearly gave out.

"None...at all?" he croaked.

"No, Papi," she answered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. His eyes crossed and he swore she was doing this on purpose—seducing him. That could be the only description of what this was, for certainly she wasn't trying to catch the attention of their perp anymore.

Drawing back, he took in her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the genuine smile curving her lips. He leaned forward, intent on kissing her, _finally_ , when a commotion erupted behind them.

They broke apart and spun around to see El Hombre making his way to the exit, two bickering blondes in tow. "Ladies, ladies, there's room for everyone," their perp admonished, and then the group was gone.

"Shit," Olivia said.

Rafael agreed.

* * *

"Let's get out of here." Olivia couldn't stand another moment dancing with Rafael, pretending they were simply lovers when in fact they were colleagues, undercover, and...hopelessly entangled in lust.

They gathered their things and paid their bar tab in silence before heading for the door. Once outside, Rafael grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner of the building into an alley. He backed her up to the brick wall of the club and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately, she opened for him, moaning when his tongue swirled around hers. He kissed her with all the passion and intensity he usually displayed in his work, and Olivia kissed him back just as eagerly.

"Quiero que me cojas(7)," he said huskily when his lips left hers to trail down her neck.

"That's convenient," she answered, arching her back to give him better access. "Quiero que estes dentro de mi(8)."

He practically growled before kissing her, hard, then stepping away and pulling her back out to the front of the club. Somehow he managed to find their limousine and direct the driver to take them back to the hotel. Once they were both in the back of the limo, Rafael punched the button to raise the privacy glass, and then he fell on her, devouring her mouth with his own. They kissed voraciously and all too soon they had slowed to a stop in front of their hotel.

The doorman didn't so much as blink when Rafael pulled Olivia flush against him while they waited for the elevator, his hand placed possessively on her derriere. Once the doors closed, he was kissing her again, and his hands came up to cup her breasts. They stumbled out of the elevator onto their floor, kissing and stroking one another as they made their way down the hall. Outside the door to their room, Rafael flattened her against the wall and continued to drive her crazy with desire. She fumbled the keycard out of her purse and they fell through the door. Olivia kicked it closed behind them and then trapped _him_ against the wall, grinding her hips against his hardness as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. Rafael gripped the globes of her ass and Olivia was ready to screw him right here in the darkened entryway—until she heard the voices.

They pulled apart, then crept silently towards the living area as one. Rafael stopped near the kitchen, quietly grabbing Olivia's weapon off the counter and handing it to her. She stepped into the room as she cocked the handgun, pointing it directly at—Miami SVU.

"Oh," she said, her frazzled brain unable to come up with a more appropriate response.

Rafael reached out and lowered her weapon for her. "You shouldn't sneak up on a cop," he chastised the Miami detectives.

"We're sitting in your hotel room with the lights on. I'd hardly call it sneaking," one of them pointed out. Olivia scowled. That was probably the same one that had given them the stupid aliases, and she was already inclined to shoot whoever had just interrupted what was promising to be the best sex of her life.

"What do you need?" she bit out.

Their sergeant, Bailey, she thought, looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "We need to discuss plans for tomorrow night. You didn't happen to make contact tonight, did you?"

Olivia shook her head, and her heart sank. It was after three in the morning, her hormones were begging for sexual release, and these maniacs wanted to _work_?

"Perhaps first thing in the morning," Rafael interjected. "I think we're both ready to shed these alter egos and get some sleep." His tone brooked no argument. Bailey scowled but he rose and gathered his things, and the Miami detectives followed suit.

"Eight o'clock," Bailey announced as they made their way out.

Olivia looked at Rafael, all the previous sparks banked as the adrenaline from the night faded away and exhaustion took its place.

"It will be fine, Olivia," he said soothingly, gesturing for her to come closer. Her feet moved of their own accord, as though she were the puppet and he the master. When she reached him, he turned her away from him, and began to unzip her dress. The rasp of the metal as it parted was the only sound in the room aside from her heavy breathing. His knuckles trailed sensually down her back as he unzipped the dress. She could think of nothing else at this moment but how much she wanted him.

Then he stepped back and said "Goodnight, Liv," in a deepened voice that was sure to feature in her dreams tonight. By the time she'd turned around, he had reached his room and closed the door.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm probably butchering the beautiful Spanish language, for which I am deeply sorry. I'm also not totally in love with the name of this fic, so if anyone has any suggestions, send them my way! Dedicated to RussianWolf7 with my sympathies and condolences, and kohee, for the amazingly kind and awe-inspiring words.**

(1) Querido: my darling

(2) Vienes aqui a menudo: Do you come here often?

(3) Solo cuando una diosa hermosa esta aqui: Only when a beautiful goddess is here.

(4) Pero no lo olvides, tenemos un trabajo que hacer: Remember, we have a job to do.

(5) Bailemos: Let's dance

(6) No tengo ropa interior puesta: I'm not wearing any underwear.

(7) Quiero que me cojas: I want you to fuck me.

(8) Quiero que estes dentro de mi: I want you inside of me.


	3. Almost

Olivia stared at the lights undulating across her ceiling from the bustling city across the bay. Apparently Miami didn't even sleep once the clock hit—what time was it now? Oh, yes, three-thirty-one in the morning. Precisely two minutes from the last time she'd checked.

Sighing, she rolled to her side and stared unseeingly out the sliding glass door. Granted, when they'd left the hotel yesterday evening, she hadn't been planning on sleeping with anyone. But when they'd exited the club? At that point, her plans had changed to include Rafael in her bed. Or his bed. Or any bed. So to find herself here, now, achingly alone—it was disappointing, to say the least.

She continued to stare out the glass, replaying the night's events over and over in her head. Wondering if she had allowed them to go too far down a path that wouldn't be sustainable once they returned to their real lives, back in New York. Wondering if he, too, felt that they hadn't gone nearly far enough.

Eventually she drifted into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken a few hours later by a string of curses.

* * *

"What kind of pathetic, imbecilic moron thought it was a good idea—"

Olivia tiptoed into the kitchen, amused despite her frustration. Barba was fighting with the coffee maker, attempting to halt the brew cycle that had dared to start without any coffee grounds.

"—stupid fucking piece of stupid fucking shit!" he finished, breathing heavily and glaring at the appliance. She was torn between stepping forward to help and continuing to watch him lose his shit, for once. When he made a fist and looked like he was going to punch the malfunctioning device, however, her choice was made for her.

Olivia sidled up to the counter, edging him gently away with a bump of her hip. She unplugged the coffee maker, emptied the water from the carafe, and began again, this time making sure the plastic grounds cup was in place before re-plugging the machine and flipping the on switch. They stood in silence as the machine bubbled and gurgled and finally produced a stream of fresh, hot coffee.

Rafael filled a mug and then, leaning back against the counter, he drained the entire mug in one go. Olivia watched, her mouth hanging open, as he refilled the cup and drank again, this time more slowly.

"Shit, that was hot," he grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Olivia burst out laughing. He glared at her, but she couldn't erase the smile on her face. "I take it you didn't sleep last night, either," she said to him.

The face he made was a definite _no_. She reached past him to grab her own mug and instantly regretted it. He must have showered at some point before attempting to make coffee, because he smelled fresh and masculine and absolutely wonderful. A sad little sigh escaped before she could stop it.

"You didn't sleep?" he asked.

"I decided to say 'fuck it' and stay up for the rest of the night until Bailey and his crew came back," she admitted.

"And that lasted until?"

"About three forty-five." She grinned sheepishly. "I caved and fell asleep. But then _someone_ woke me up."

He grimaced. "Sorry." Then he glared at the coffee machine and Olivia laughed again. She drank a few sips of her coffee and then leaned back against the counter, mimicking his pose.

"You know, I wasn't expecting to laugh this morning. Thank you for that," she told him.

Rafael made a soft grunting sound, but Olivia noticed that the strain around his eyes had eased.

They continued to drink in silence, each lost in thought. The hotel room brightened bit by bit as the sun rose over the city. Olivia could finish her coffee with one more mouthful, but she found herself dragging it out so that she had an excuse to continue to observe Rafael. He was wearing a worn pair of pajama pants and a gray short-sleeve t-shirt that looked extremely soft. It was taking all of her considerable will power not to just curl into him.

 _But_.

But she wasn't sure where they stood. A few hours ago, she had been his for the taking, and instead he'd unzipped her dress and sent her off to bed—alone.

So she continued to sip at her coffee, afraid to bridge the space between them.

* * *

Rafael sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He'd lain awake in his bed, wondering why he'd been such an idiot. He'd seen the look of hurt on Olivia's face when he'd left her last night, but he had told himself it was for the best. They were coworkers, for one, and she was the best friend he'd ever had, for seconds. He hardly wanted to ruin either of those relationships for a night of sex.

Even if it had been promising to be the _best_ sex.

So, he'd walked away. But this morning, as the sun rose and glinted off whatever satiny thing she called pajamas, he was seriously questioning whether he'd made the right choice.

Hell. He knew he'd made the wrong choice, albeit for the right reasons.

"Olivia." His voice rang out in the kitchen, startling them both. Deliberately he softened his tone. "Liv. I'm sorry about last night." He stared into his coffee cup, unable to make this apology while looking into those big brown eyes of hers. "I got carried away. I would never want to do anything to jeopardize our working relationship."

"Of course."

Her voice sounded normal, but for some reason, Rafael felt that she was offended. Great—he was botching this, too. He finally looked up at her. "I meant it when I said I don't sleep with colleagues. I respect the hell out of you, Olivia, and I won't screw that up, I promise."

She was staring at him, her mouth ajar. Then she seemed to shake herself and straightened away from the counter. "Understood, Counselor. As a rule, I don't date lawyers, either, so we should be fine."

She dumped her mug into the sink and strode to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Well, that hurt. Rafael supposed he had asked for that, after his comment about not sleeping with coworkers...but she was shredding his resolve on that front.

He stared at her door for the entire duration of his third cup of coffee.

* * *

Olivia didn't look up from the case files spread in front of her an hour later when there was a knock at the door. She also refused to look when Barba stood up and went to answer it. He wanted to maintain a respectful colleague distance, well, then that was fine with her. She could act like nothing had changed between them, even if she felt like everything had.

He'd had his hands on her ass, for chrissakes.

Firmly giving herself a mental shake, Olivia banished those thoughts from her head and tried to re-focus on the papers in front of her. She heard Barba arguing with whomever had come to the door, and Olivia frowned. She was about to step in when Bailey strode into the room.

"Benson. Grab your paperwork and let's go. We need to get down to the precinct."

"What? Why?" She stood and automatically began stuffing the papers back into their folders.

"So you can make a positive ID."

Olivia halted and whipped her head up to look at Bailey. Odd, he didn't _seem_ like the type to joke...

Sergeant Bailey was definitely smiling. Granted, it was a little bit scary, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Our unis pulled a car over for running a stop sign early this morning. You'll never guess who was driving around town with his bookkeeping laptop in tow."

Her mouth fell open. "You're telling me that Miguel DeSanto got brought in for running a stop sign? And he had condemning evidence of child trafficking with him?" She glanced over at Barba, who looked equally as floored. Then she returned her attention to Bailey. "That's—I don't— _really_?"

Bailey's grin widened and now he actually looked more human than robot. "It's great news, Sergeant Benson, but we want you to come and identify him, just to make sure this thing is airtight."

"Of course! I'm sorry, let's go." She haphazardly stuffed the rest of the files into her case and hurried to the door.

* * *

"I just can't believe he would be so _stupid_ ," Olivia muttered for the fifth time a while later at the Miami precinct.

"Keeping the laptop with him was an amateur mistake," Barba agreed.

"He was going by a different name," Olivia said to one of the detectives who was with them. "How—"

"Seems like some brilliant Computer Crimes uni had the good sense to attach not only known aliases, but the names of family and past associates to his file as well," the detective replied, smiling at Olivia. "He was using his cousin's name when we stopped him."

She returned his smile, glad to know that her work from nearly a decade ago had paid off. Then Barba spoke up. "Yes, we're all very in awe of Sergeant Benson. Getting back to our case, however..."

Olivia barely restrained the growl that wanted to leave her throat as Barba carried on about how soon they could extradite to New York and other business matters. She paced over to the two-way and stared at Miguel, sitting in the interrogation room by himself and looking pissed. She was still dumbstruck that he could have been so stupid—could have been brought in on such a ho-hum citation. But, she had to admit that she was relieved that they wouldn't have to go back undercover tonight. She didn't think she could take it after Barba's awful apology this morning in their kitchen.

And then, as if her thoughts had summoned him, he was standing next to her at the mirror. "You really did do a great job," he said, and she had the feeling it was his way of saying sorry. She was still hurt by his words, though, and his vehemence that everything had been a mistake, so she wasn't inclined to let him off the hook that easily.

"That's what they pay me the medium-level bucks for, Barba," she retorted, taking one last look at El Hombre before heading for the door. "Who handles your travel arrangements?" she asked the detective. "We need to get our airline tickets exchanged."

"Oh, I thought Sarge had talked to you about that." The detective shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Olivia and Rafael. "Um, I don't really know all the details, but—"

"Well?" Barba prompted, once again coming to stand next to Olivia.

"Someone on your end denied the last-minute itinerary change. Apparently they gave Sergeant Bailey a pretty good tongue lashing, too. Something about pompous ADAs who think the airlines revolve around them... Or that's what I heard. I, um, could be wrong." The Miami detective smothered a laugh at the look on Barba's face, but Olivia felt no such compunction. She laughed out loud.

"Apparently they know you very well over in Purchasing," she commented drily. Barba shot her an irritated look and she had to laugh again.

"So we're not getting out of here today?" Rafael snapped.

"Uh, no. Sorry." The detective started to back out of the office. "I'll just, ah, go find Sarge for you."

He beat a hasty retreat and Olivia laughed again. "Oh boy, Barba, you should see the look on your face. I think there might actually be smoke coming out of your ears."

"Yak it up, Olivia. This just means we're sharing the hotel room for another night."

 _Oh_. That brought her up short. Now Barba was smiling, although he looked a bit like a shark faced with an injured dolphin.

"I'm sure we can survive an extra night in the penthouse suite of a five-star hotel without too much heartburn, Barba."

She turned to leave but he reached out to grasp her elbow. "Back to Barba, am I? I thought we had agreed you would call me Rafael."

Olivia stared at his hand on her arm until he released her. Then she looked him right in the eye and said, "I didn't want to jeopardize our working relationship."

She put her oversized sunglasses back on as she headed out of the precinct and down to the car.

* * *

Once back at their hotel, Olivia beat a hasty retreat to her new favorite bathtub. She wasn't sure how she was going to survive another twenty-four hours of uninterrupted Barba time without either strangling him or pinning him to the floor and having her way with him.

It was unfortunate that her line of work had taught her you could do both at the same time.

Clearing her mind of _those_ images, Olivia sank into the tub full of hot water and bubbles. Maybe she would spend the entirety of her final hours in Miami in this bath. The idea had merit...

Olivia let her mind drift so she wasn't sure how long it had been when the door flew open to reveal Barba, dressed casually in a polo shirt and immaculate khakis.

"Again, Barba, really?" she spluttered, hastily sinking lower into the water and gathering bubbles to her chest to cover her.

"It's not my fault you've spent the majority of our time here in the bathtub." He came forward to lean against her counter, tucking his hands into his pockets. He studied her for a moment before he spoke. "I have the feeling that you're angry with me."

Olivia let out a short laugh. "Wow, they really mean it when they say you have a killer instinct." He merely waited, staring at her without reacting to her sarcasm. She sighed and sat up a little. "Look, I just—whatever happens from this point on, never kiss me and then apologize, okay? That's so—" She shook her head, unable to vocalize her feelings on the matter.

Barba continued to stare at her, then shrugged his shoulders. "Consider it done. Now, what are we going to do for the rest of the day? I thought we might go exploring, maybe take a trip into Little Havana. There's a restaurant there that will knock your socks off."

She gaped at him for a moment and then slouched back down in her bath. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"It would be a shame to waste this unexpected reprieve from reality," he answered easily. "Come on, Sergeant Benson. Get dressed and let's go." He straightened and moved to the door, stopping only to add, "Just so you know, when you shifted the bubbles, you created a large clear spot further down. I have to say, I never would have pegged Sergeant Benson for the Brazilian type."

Olivia gasped at the same time that he winked at her. "They will _never_ find your body, Barba, never!" The bottle of bubble bath she threw at him hit the door harmlessly and fell to the floor. She could hear him laughing all the way back to his room.

* * *

Olivia soothed her battered dignity for about twenty minutes before rising from the bath and getting dressed for their foray into the city. Any longer and she would have had to accuse herself of self-pity, and Olivia Benson was not the self-pitying type. So she slipped on a tshirt and the same pair of jeans and flats from the airplane ride and joined Barba in the living room.

"Ready when you are, El Capitan," she announced.

Barba smirked knowingly at her as he checked his watch, but he refrained from comment. Olivia followed him out of their room and down to the hotel lobby, where she assumed he would hail them a cab. Instead, however, he exited the building and headed left, with her close on his heels. He seemed content to walk in silence, so Olivia held her tongue. Not that she had much to say aside from chastising him about walking in on her in the bathtub. _Again_. And she thought that that was a topic better left alone.

They walked for about twenty minutes before Barba turned and continued onto SW 8th Street. Immediately, the atmosphere brightened. The buildings were painted in shades of teal, coral, and pale yellow; music drifted out from several porches; adults and children could be seen talking and laughing up and down the boulevard. They wandered Little Havana for close to an hour, stopping in a few shops and walking over to see the giant ceiba tree on Memorial Boulevard. Olivia couldn't recall ever seeing him this relaxed and happy before. Occasionally when he laughed or stopped to play with a group of kids, she almost thought she could see what Rafael had been like as a kid himself.

Finally, Rafael declared it was time to eat, and the restaurant he took them to did indeed knock her socks off. "This is even better than the take-away you brought to the hotel a few nights ago," she groaned, her belly near to bursting.

"Don't fill up too much—there's still ice cream to be had," he told her, wiping his mouth with his napkin and drinking the last bit of his water. Olivia groaned again.

Rafael paid their bill—which she _tried_ not to think was sweet—and then he practically dragged her down the street to the Azucar Ice Cream Company. "You're going to love this," he promised her as they stepped inside. A bell tinkled overhead and the brunette woman behind the counter glanced up.

"Rafi! It's been an age." She rushed out from behind the counter and gave Rafael a tight hug. "How is Lucia?"

"She's well, thank you." Rafael returned the squeeze and then gestured to Olivia. "This is Sergeant Olivia Benson. We work together in New York."

"Hi, I'm Suzy. It's very nice to meet you." They shook hands and then Suzy pointed at the ice cream counter. "Whatever you want, it's on the house. Don't stay away so long next time, okay, _mi amor_?" She patted Rafael on the arm and then bustled back behind the counter.

"She's friendly." Olivia tried to keep the jealousy out of her tone, really she did, but she must not have been successful because Rafael gave her a wolfish grin.

"She ought to be. I rescued her from about a thousand trees when we were kids." He took Olivia's elbow and steered her up to the counter.

"Don't forget to tell her how _I_ rescued _you_ from the neighbor's puppy," Suzy called to them. To Olivia's amusement, a blush crept up to tinge Rafael's cheeks pink.

"He was vicious," Rafael mumbled. Olivia laughed and earned a wide smile from Suzy. She watched Rafael examine the rows of ice cream flavors and smiled to herself. They hadn't spent such frivolous free time together—well, ever, actually. It was nice to see her ADA without the worry of the world on his shoulders for once.

"What would you like?" he asked her, slanting a glance over at her.

That particular look made her want lots of things, all of which were X-rated and none of which were on the menu at an ice cream shop. She cleared her throat and redirected her attention to the ice cream. "I don't know...there are so many choices," she answered.

"One Abuela Maria and one Café con Leche," he ordered for them. Olivia felt her eyebrows go up at his take-charge attitude, but she had to admit it was one of the things that she liked most about him. He looked at her again while Suzy made their cones and said, "You'll like the Maria."

"And I notice yours has coffee in it," she teased him.

"Of course," he answered simply. Suzy handed their cones over and Rafael thanked her before leading them outside to the patio. They sat at a table beneath a tree and Rafael attacked his ice cream with vigor. Olivia couldn't stop smiling as she, too, dug into her frozen concoction. It was as delicious as promised, but no match for the heat of the Miami sun.

"I can't eat this fast enough! It's melting all over me!" Olivia took a few swipes at the mountain of ice cream with her tongue, all to no avail. She was laughing as more melted confection made its way to her hand.

"Let me help." Rafael finished the last bite of his cone, reached out, and took her ice cream cone from her. But instead of eating some, he used his other hand to bring her messy one to his mouth. Placing her hand at his lips, he sucked the ice cream off the skin between her thumb and forefinger. Olivia's heart kicked into overdrive. Never taking his eyes off hers, Rafael swirled his tongue over her hand and around her fingers, licking off all the ice cream. When he reached her wrist, though, Olivia tensed. She tried to pull her hand away.

Rafael released her hand, frowning. "I'm sorr—"

"No! No more kissing me and apologizing, remember?" she pointed out. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, however, she felt compelled to explain. "I have a scar there, from Lewis. It makes me uncomfortable."

Inexplicably, his lips lifted in a slight smile. "I've got my mouth on your skin and you're thinking of a deceased psychopath? My technique must really need work."

The tension left Olivia in a visceral _whoosh_. She licked her lips and said, "Find a different patch of skin, is all."

The look in Rafael's eyes darkened with intensity. He reached for her hand again, extending her arm and using her ice cream cone to daub some liquid on the inside of her elbow. Leaning forward, he sucked the ice cream off, and Olivia's thighs clenched with need. She wondered where else he was going to paint the ice cream.

But he didn't put any more on her skin. Instead, he took a long lick of the ice cream and then immediately fastened his mouth at the point where her neck met her shoulder. A small whimper escaped her and Rafael sat back, taking in her dazed expression and flushed cheeks. He held the ice cream cone out to her, waiting until she'd taken a few licks before removing it and kissing her. Their tongues met in a shock of cold versus warm and Olivia doubted she'd ever be able to look at ice cream the same way again.

This kiss was unlike the frenetic kissing from the night before—it was unhurried, explorative. He took his time sipping at her lips before plunging his tongue into her mouth in a languorous rhythm that had her melting just as quickly as her ice cream had. He placed his free hand on the back of her neck and pulled her against him more firmly. Olivia slipped her hands into the hair at the base of his neck and raked her nails over his scalp. She smiled against his lips when he moaned.

Tilting her head to drop kisses from his lips to his jaw to his neck, she murmured, "You know, I have a penthouse suite in a hotel near here," into his ear.

"Right. Time to go." He leapt up and finished off her ice cream in three huge bites. Brushing off his hands, he helped her up from the bench and practically dragged her in his haste to go back to their hotel. He didn't even pause once they were inside. "Bye, Suze," Rafael called as they wound their way through the shop. "Tell the kids Rafi says hello."

"¿Como estuvo(1)?" Suzy asked as Rafael towed her towards the door.

"Best ice cream I've ever had," he informed her in a sincere tone that had Olivia blushing and grinning like a fool.

* * *

 **A/N: I've gotten distracted with Barson drabbles but I did manage to finish the next chapter of this today! Enjoy! (It's only felt like winter here for about 2 weeks and already I'm escaping into Miami heat fantasies...)**

 **(1) Como estuvo? - How was it?**


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